Love Him Or Hate Him, You Can't Live Without Him
by pupeez4eva
Summary: Canada decides that he's going to kill his brother...easier said then done. After all, no matter how much he wants to hate the idiot, he just can't bring himself to do so.


Canada hated America. He really, _really _hated America. Ever since they had been little kids, the bastard had been a thorn in his side. Always overshadowing him, always treating him like he wasn't worthy of the _oh-so-mighty _attention of the great _America. _Always pushing him aside...always making him the unwanted one...always looking just like him...

...Although that _was _a little cool...

...NOT that looking like America was cool of course (ignore the above statement). After all, because that idiot was constantly making enemies with _everyone _around him, Canada was always the one bearing the brunt...

...Sometimes those idiots _did _take things a little far though. Some of the things they said to his brother weren't exactly things that he deserved...

_NOT _that, that meant the bastard wasn't still a bastard. He _was_ a bastard! He was a big fat bastard who was loud, and obnoxious, and annoying, and sometimes cool...but mostly annoying! Oh yes, he was _SO _annoying! The annoying outweighed any ounces of coolness he had. He was...

...He was annoying, okay?!

Canada really hated his brother (he did, okay!).

Something had to be done.

...

Canada needed a plan. He needed a really, _really _good, detailed plan in order to do this...and he _was _going to do this. He wasn't going to just sit back and do nothing anymore. He'd show people what he was made of; when all this was done, people would realize that he was just as good as his brother!

"Hmm...let's see..." He stared down at the piece of paper in front of him. "How am I going to kill him...it needs to be painful so that he can pay for everything he's ever done to me..."

He hesitated.

"Not_ too_ painful though...I mean, sure I hate him - I really, _really _hate him - but he's still my brother..."

He froze for a moment, his eyes widening.

"I'm not backing out of anything!" he cried. "I'm not a coward!"

"Who are you talking too?"

He jumped in alarm at the sound of another voice, which he soon recognized as Kumajo (or something like that).

Canada laughed, nervously. "You, of course! Who else would I be talking to?" His expression twitched. "I'm not crazy!"

"...Who are you?"

Canada turned away from Kumuji (...that was his name, right?) and back to the piece of paper.

"Lets see..." His brow furrowed. "Why don't I poison him? But...I heard that's really painful. I don't want him to suffer..." He froze. "Oh, what am I saying?! Of course I want him to suffer! I hate him!"

There was a moment of silence.

"...Maybe I could make it a bit less painful though..." Canada hesitated. "Not for him of course - for me. His howls of agony would be annoying to listen to."

"...Maybe I could just hire a hit man."

Canada shook his head, his brow furrowing slightly.

"No, no, _no," _he muttered. "I need to show people that I'm better than he is! Plus, I _HATE _him so much that it won't be a problem!"

...

Sometime after his (totally _not _crazy) rant, Canada went to bed. The next time he saw the piece of paper (now covered in a series of messy scribbles and words) was the next morning.

His eyes widened.

"Who the _hell _wrote this?!" Snatching the paper up, his eyes scanned over it, taking in everything that had been written.

"What the hell?! How could anyone write this?! When I find out who it was, I'll -"

His voice cut off.

"...Oh yeah, I did." Canada let out an awkward laugh. "I...I really hate that guy."

...

The next day, Canada decided to pay America a little visit.

"Oh hey!" America cried, when he opened the door and saw who was standing on the other side. "Candora!"

Canada's eye twitched. "It's Canada."

"Oh yeah!" Still smiling, America motioned for him to come inside. "What's up dude?"

Canada gave his brother a strained smile. "Hello America," he said. From the front, he looked completely normal. From the back however...

...Well, lets just say, the axe hidden behind his back would have given anyone a bit of a scare.

"Dude, awesome," America announced. _"SO_ great to see you!"

"You too America," Canada responded. To himself, he thought; _'Geez, I hate this guy...'_

"So, what's up dude?"

"...Oh nothing." Canada smiled, falsely. "Have you been well lately, America?"

"Well, actually..." America lowered his eyes to the ground, his smile fading. Canada, despite how much he tried to stop himself, felt a glimmer of concern.

"Just kidding, I've been great!" With a bright laugh, America looked back up at his brother, and shot him a large grin.

_'...I WASN'T CONCERNED!' _

Trying to hold himself back from glaring, Canada forced a pleasant expression onto his face.

"Would you like to go inside the house?" he asked.

_'...Where no one can hear you scream...'_

"Sure dude!" America turned around and began to head inside; Canada lifted his axe.

"So -"

As America turned around once again, Canada's eyes widened in panic, and he quickly shoved the weapon back behind his back.

"What's up, dude?"

"Er..." Canada coughed. "I've...just...you know. Been thinking."

America's eyebrows raised. "Oh really? About what?"

"Oh you know...stuff."

_'Your death.'_

"Want something to eat?" America asked. "Some burgers, or something like that?"

Canada shrugged. "Could I have a glass of water?"

"Sure." America turned around. Canada quickly followed, lifting the axe high above his head.

_'Come on, Mattie,' _he thought. _'Bring the axe down...just bring the axe down...'_

Involuntarily, memories of his childhood assaulted his mind. He thought back to all the times he had laughed and spent time with his brother; all the times they'd had fun together...

Canada's expression darkened. "Damn those memories!"

America turned around, looking confused. "What?"

Canada flung the axe behind his back, his eyes wide. "Nothing!" he cried, hurriedly.

America frowned. "If you say so, dude."

He turned around again; Canada lifted up his axe.

"Now," he muttered, under his breath. "Just bring it down..."

His arms remained, frozen above his head.

"Come on, Mattie," he growled. "Just bring the axe down...come on...just bring it down..."

No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't bring himself to do it.

_'AHHH!'_

"So dude," America said, his back facing his brother as he walked. "Think you could make some pancakes sometime soon? You make the best pancakes."

Canada's expression lit up. "Really? I'll make some the next time I come over."

For a brief moment, he forgot all about the fact that he was on a mission to axe his brother to death. A warm and fuzzy feeling filled his body and -

He crushed it, quickly.

_'Haha, NO!' _he thought. _'You'll be dead by then - dammit, go away warm and fuzzy feeling...I HATE him!'_

America headed over to the sink and opened the tap, holding a glass underneath the stream of water.

"Think you could bring some maple syrup too?" he asked.

Canada, with the axe still posed over his head, nodded his head.

"I have a new bottle," he replied. "I'll bring it over."

_'...I AM going to kill him, alright!'_

"Thanks dude!" America beamed. "You're the best brother ever!"

Canada's expression faltered, as the warm feeling returned.

"Go away," he hissed, under his breath.

"I mean, I'm so lucky to have someone like you," America continued, oblivious to what was going on behind him. "You're probably my favourite brother."

"...You too." Canada lowered the axe.

_'I'm still going to kill him,' _he thought to himself. _'I'll just...pick a neater method. I can't deal with all the blood.'_

...

He returned the next week.

"Dude, you're back!" America cried, as he opened the door.

Canada smiled at him. "Hey America," he said. He headed inside, his hands clasped around a container, with a bottle of maple syrup resting on top.

"I brought some pancakes and maple syrup for you," he told his brother, as he walked past him.

_'More like pancakes and poison...' _He inwardly laughed.

"Dude, are you sure that's maple syrup?" America squinted at the bottle. "I looks funky."

Canada glared at him. "It's syrup, okay!" he snapped. "I'm Canada, I know my syrup!"

America blinked. "Dude, if you say so. I trust you."

Canada's expression faltered slightly. "Err...yeah," he said. "I trust you too."

_'That's a lie,' _he thought, hurriedly. _'I don't trust him! He's going to die - he is, okay!'_

"So, it's pretty nice of you to do this for me," America told him, smiling brightly.

"Yup." Canada nodded his head.

_'Be as nice as you want - I'm still going to kill you.'_

"So, dude." They'd reached the kitchen. "Can I have some now?"

Canada hesitated.

"Dude?"

Glancing down at the maple syrup, Canada thought about handing the bottle over to his brother. He made no move to do so.

"Dude..." America raised one eyebrow, questioningly. "Candyland..."

Canada's eye's snapped up. "It's CANADA!"

America stared at him. "...Okay..."

_'He's a DEAD MAN!'_

Canada forced a pleasant smile onto his face and passed the bottle over to his brother.

"It's all yours," he told him.

America grinned at him. "Dude, thanks!"

The two of them headed into the kitchen, America rambling on about how he couldn't wait to eat the pancakes, and Canada thinking about how much he would love to see his brother's lifeless corpse.

_'...You know, it wasn't all bad times...' _Despite himself, unwanted thoughts began to fill Canada's mind. _'He can be a pretty good brother when he wants to be...'_

_'...SHUT THE HELL UP!'_

"Dude, are you coming?"

At the sound of his brother's voice, Canada shook his head, and smiled.

"Yeah, I am," he responded. He hurried over.

The two sat down at the kitchen table. Without even a moment of hesitation, America yanked the container out of Canada's hands (Canada's eye twitched slightly) and reached for the bottle of maple syrup.

The next word was out of Canada's mouth before he could even think about it.

_"WAIT!"_

America paused and glanced up, looking confused.

"Er..." Canada coughed. "Can...I have some first?"

The confusion cleared and America nodded his head. He passed the bottle over.

_'What are you doing?!' _Canada thought, as he moved to grasp the bottle. _'Poison him already, you sap!'_

He let go of the bottle; it toppled to the ground and shattered across the floor.

"Whoops." Canada shot his brother an apologetic look.

_'I just didn't want to listen to his cries of pain,' _he thought. _'I have sensitive ears! I'll get him next time!'_

...

'Next time' happened to be the next day. Canada sat, slouched over America's car, his eyes flickering over the engine.

"That's it!" he whispered, excitedly. "I'm going to do it! I'm going to kill him for real this time!"

There...it was right in front of him. All he had to do was tamper with the engine, and then his brother would lose control of the car, and crash it, and die...

...All he had to do was _tamper _with the engine.

"Come on," he hissed. "Tamper with it already..."

A moment passed.

"...That bastard is going down..."

Another moment passed.

"He is!"

And another...

"I'm going to do it okay, stop rushing me!"

Canada stared blankly at the car in front of him, considering his options. He...he could do it. All he had to do was screw up the car and then his brother would be _gone._

"...Then again, he could always accidentally kill someone else." Canada took a step back away from the vehicle. "I'll get him another way."

As he walked away, he thought; _'I hate him!'_

...

"Just drop the brick on his head..."

From his spot on top of the roof, Canada stared down at his brother's head, his eyes narrowed.

"Come on," he muttered. "Just drop the brick..."

He hesitated.

"But what if I miss and paralyze him?" His brow furrowed. "That'd be terrible..."

There was an awkward pause.

"For me!" he amended, hurriedly. "It'd be terrible for _me. _Because I'd probably be stuck looking after him...I really don't care about him..."

...

"Smother him!" Canada hissed, a crazed smile stretched across his face. "Smother him!"

He stood posed over his brother's sleeping form, a large pillow clutched in his hands.

"...You know this reminds me of that one time when we were kids, and England let me stay in his room..."

Swallowing, Canada took a step back and shook his head.

"Too much effort," he muttered. "I'll find another way...I'm still a badass though! And I hate him!"

...

He stared blankly at the butchers knife, clutched in his hand.

"Dude, what's up?" America asked.

Canada jumped, his eyes widening. "Oh nothing," he responded, hurriedly.

_'Butcher's knives are cliché anyway...'_

...

"America, can I use your gun?" Canada asked. America glanced at him, his eyebrows raising slightly.

"Sure thing, bro," he replied.

_'The ultimate insult,' _Canada thought, smiling slightly. _'Killing him with a bullet from his own gun - brilliant!'_

He made no move to get it.

_'...It's tacky.' _He shook his head. _'I'll think of another way.'_

...

A week later (and after about twelve attempts at murder) Canada found himself locked in his room, his hands clutched tightly around his cell phone.

"Hello?" said a voice on the other end.

"Hello," Canada responded, trying to hide the anxiety in his voice. "Err...is this a Hit Man?"

_'Hit Men are cool, okay!' _he thought to himself, firmly.

"Yes?" said the voice.

"I...err..." He hesitated. "I need you to kill someone."

_'Just because I'm getting someone else to do it, doesn't mean I'm not a badass menace, okay!'_

"Who?" asked the voice.

There was an awkward pause.

"Hello?"

"...My brother."

"What's his name?" the voice asked.

Canada's eyes narrowed. "Why do you need to know?"

There was another pause.

The voice on the other end coughed. "I need to know who I'm supposed to kill."

"Back off!" Canada snapped, his eyes narrowing. "He may be a bastard but he's still my brother!"

The voice let out a loud sigh. "Do you want me to kill him or not?"

"Of course I do! I hate him!"

"...Okay." There was another sigh. "Why don't you tell me who he is, so I _can _kill him."

"No!"

"...No?"

"I mean yes," Canada hurriedly amended. "Of course I will. His name is..." He swallowed. "Err..."

"...Are you sure you have the right number?" The voice sounded irritated.

"Yes!" Canada nodded his head, quickly. "Yes I do! I want him _DEAD!"_

"Okay what's his name?"

Canada chewed on his lip. "...Can we skip this part?"

The voice sighed. "Okay then. Where does he live?"

Canada shook his head, his eyes widening. "I can't tell you that!" he cried.

There was the sound of something that sounded like a slap; Canada wondered if the man had hit his head in frustration. He wouldn't blame him.

"Sorry," he murmured. "I...how about I tell you some of the places he hangs out at? Then you can go and find him..."

The voice breathed heavily for a moment. "Okay then," it said, at last. "How does he look?"

"...Like me."

There was an awkward pause. "How do _you _look?" the voice asked, at last.

"Er...well, you know..." Canada thought for a moment. "I look...Canadian..."

"I think I need a bit more than that," the voice ground out.

"Well...he doesn't look Canadian," Canada said, at last. "He looks American. Oh, and he's annoying."

There was a loud sigh from the other line. "Are you sure you want this?" the voice asked.

"Yes!" Canada's voice was firm. "I've never wanted anything more!"

There was a moment of silence.

"...Can I call you back?" he asked.

He hung up the phone and stared at the wall blankly.

...

A few hours later he decided that killing America was a little over the top. He still hated him though - he really did!

"...I don't hate America," he sighed, slumping back and glaring at the ceiling.

**...**

**AN:**

**Tell me what you think XD I know this is really random but...I was reading a snapped!Canada fic and I thought it might be fun to write a story where Canada TRIES to act snapped, but fails.**

**Hope you enjoyed this! **


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